


Cloud

by deathwailart



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Banter, Fluff, Humor, Light Angst, M/M, Picnics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-28
Updated: 2014-07-28
Packaged: 2018-02-10 18:52:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2036211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathwailart/pseuds/deathwailart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not often that Kirkwall could be considered quiet but when it is, Ruairidh tries to enjoy and drag Anders along for the ride.</p>
<p>Written for the 30 day drabble challenge: cloud</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cloud

It's rare that they ever get actual free time to themselves. Anders has the clinic and a constant influx of patients not just from Darktown or the Ferelden refugee population but parts of Lowtown and even Hightown too make their way down to the undercity. There's always someone in need because that's the sort of place Kirkwall is. (One day Ruairidh will be part of joking talk about ham that tastes of despair and it's true that, by then, he will be full up on but the smell of Darktown, the damp and the rot and the cowering unwashed bodies with palms outstretched, scraping out a life amidst the carta and other violent thugs who lurk in the corners, the slavers and the blood mages and all the awful passages down there he has to take that can be full of anything from spiders to mobs to demons and abominations, the sort of smell that clings and catches in the back of the throat, _that_ is despair to him.) Anders also has his manifesto, hunched over painfully in his clinic in guttering lamplight or leaving Ruairidh to wake cold and alone, finding Anders in the study scribbling frantically or perusing Ruairidh's ever expanding library or, distressingly often, balling up pages to toss in the fire, the bruises under his eyes making him look even more haunted and inhuman than usual.  
  
But as Fenris once said, mages in glass houses shouldn't throw fireballs and Ruairidh who has always had the desire to do more, to help other mages where he can or to show people that a mage can do good, that they're people just like everyone else, just like the Hero of Ferelden did. So he helps with smuggling the mages when he can, uses his status to talk even when it makes Meredith's eye twitch, hands out copies of the manifesto because he has to do something. It's why he takes on as much as he does, even with a laugh and a joke because he doesn't quite know how to help himself and he really hopes his father is smiling somewhere with mother and Bethany, all teasing.  
  
Today though it's actually bright and sunny, the sort of sun he hasn't seen in years because it always seems as though there's cloud lingering, a threat of rain on the horizon and sometimes the heat is sticky and oppressive, not like Ferelden where it was hot when it was hot and cold when it was cold.  
  
Even Fenris seems to agree when he blames the weakened Veil has to be a possible reason for the horrible weather they have to deal with.  
  
"Anders," he calls out with a grin as he swings around the door of the clinic – it's a slow day, there's no one actually in and he came down from the entrance from the estate – with a grin on his face, hands behind his back.  
  
"Ruairidh!" Anders jumps and lets go of his quill, surprised but smiling. It makes him look slightly less awful.  
  
"Were you up all night?" Ruairidh asks and from the squirming he knows Anders is going to try to talk his way out of it so he holds up a hand. "Don't answer because for once, I have the cure for what ails you."  
  
"Don't take this the wrong way Ruairidh but I've seen your attempt at a healing spell and brute force _really_ doesn't work in those situations."  
  
"You _wound_ me." He clutches one hand to his heart and collapses to his knee. "I have been struck down as though your words were arrows-"  
  
"Ruairidh," Anders interrupts, trying to look stern but his mouth is twitching at the corners.  
  
"Send for Sebastian, he must hear my last words, my final confession," Ruairidh continues undeterred. "I leave my finest dinner service to Varric, it's got some sort of fancy seal. To Isabela I bequeath everything shiny, it's only right she gets first shot as my pirate queen."  
  
"You're such an arse," Anders laughs, grabbing his stave to swat at Ruairidh lazily.  
  
It only encourages him. "I am done for, mercy serah, mercy!"  
  
"You might want to get off that floor, you don't know where it's been," Anders comments dryly and well, that's fairly sobering so up he gets, dusting himself off before he grabs the other end of the stave and tugs Anders closer for a kiss that leaves them both breathless. "So...do what do I owe the pleasure?"  
  
"Well I don't know if you've noticed but it's actually _sunny_. Real sun Anders! Do you remember being on the run in the old days, glorious Ferelden sunshine?"  
  
"I remember the sunburn."  
  
"Be romantic, pretend Varric's writing you."  
  
"That's just creepy."  
  
"Ssh," he has to kiss him again. "C'mon, come have a day out with me. I promise: no spiders, no lyrium addled idiots and no maleficar. I can't completely promise the last one."  
  
"Believe me, I'd love to but Ruairidh, there's so much to do..."  
  
There's only one thing Ruairidh can do.  
  
"There are strawberries. And whipped cream."  
  
He's not imagining the moan Anders lets out and he grins.  
  
"You, me, the Wounded Coast-"  
  
"The Wounded Coast? That's romance?"  
  
"It's Kirkwall, would you rather Sundermount? And you're a bad one to talk about romance." He's rubbish at impressions but he tries and it hopefully counts for something. " _I have lain awake_ -"  
  
"You've made your point-"  
  
" _Aching_ -"  
  
"Ruairidh I will shove this stave so far-"  
  
" _For you and your farmer's tan and your terrible lines and the way you smell of mabari because that's such an aphrodisiac_ ," he coughs and stops.  "Sorry, I'm done."  
  
"It _is_ tempting, I can't remember the last time I had a strawberry."  
  
"You and me, whipped cream, strawberries, some Tevinter soup Orana made that's good cold – don't make that face, it's delicious – and glazed ham, I don't know what else I grabbed. I've got some booze that doesn't taste like it's been aged in rat droppings! We can just lie back and look at the clouds, pretend we're in some paradise and the last men in Thedas."  
  
Anders smiles at him and grabs his stave, gesturing for Ruairidh to lead the way as he hangs a sign on the door that he'll be back later and, like it sometimes does when it's him and the family he's built in Kirkwall, life doesn't feel so terrible.


End file.
